


One Dead Sunflower

by Laclavande



Series: The Sunflower [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Canon Relationships, Drama, F/M, Gen, Internal Conflict, Man I sure do put this poor woman through the wringer, Post-Series, This is very elodie centric btw, but does feature d'Artagnan and Constance babysitting and being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-22 23:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12493372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laclavande/pseuds/Laclavande
Summary: A very real ghost has appeared in Paris and his presence threatens everything Elodie has built for herself and her family. It’s a tale of two husbands. And she’s going to have to choose.Set less than a year after the end of series 3, this story explores the idea of what might happen if Elodie’s husband wasn’t killed in battle.





	1. Chapter 1

As Elodie stood outside the small forge, waiting for her order of nails, she faced the square. This part of Paris was not as bustling as the food markets, only building materials and supplies were sold here. With the reconstruction of the garrison very nearly completed, this was likely to be her last excursion here.

    “Here you are, Madame.”

Elodie turned around to take the small sack from the nailer,

    “Thank you,” she said and placed the nails in her empty basket. They were heavy, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Then the man returned to his work, the sound of hammer hitting steel ringing throughout the square. Having what she came for, Elodie started to make her way back to the garrison. She only made it a short way before somebody stopped her. A man’s hand was on her shoulder. He had crept up on her. Scared out of her wits, Elodie whipped around, ready to smack the stranger in the face with her heavy basket of nails if she had to. But she didn’t.

    “Elodie?”

Because it was her husband. Her late husband.

Elodie was speechless. She didn’t blink as she stood there looking up at the face she hadn’t seen for more than a year and a half. The face she didn’t think she would ever see again.

    “It’s me,” he said, “it’s Asher.”

He looked different. He was skinnier than when she saw him last, and his hair was much shorter; it was like he didn’t have any at all it had been cut so close to the scalp. His hair was once the colour of barley and flowed like a rippling river, now what remained of it looked more like the silt from the bottom of that river. He was still cleanly shaven though, showing off his round jawline. And his eyes, blue to match her own and those of their daughter’s, they sparkled like a clear lake on a clear day at seeing her. Elodie just couldn’t believe it.

    “I- I thought you were dead,” was all she was able to get out, a sob creeping in her voice. An unexpected tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek. Asher lovingly wiped it away with his thumb and held her chin. Despite the bracing touch, her lip quivered as more tears started to form. Still standing in the middle of the street, Asher embraced his wife. She had to swing her basket to the side to avoid an abdominal collision. She did not move her hand to hug him back. 

    “Oh, Elodie. I thought you were dead too!”

This elicited a sob from the woman. When they parted, she wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffed, followed by an awkward breathy laugh.

    “You were with child. Did you have the baby?” He asked, brow furrowed. Her composure regained, Elodie stood up straighter and grasped the handle of her basket with both hands again.

    “Yes! Yes, she’s with a friend,” she said with a smile and a sniff. Asher smiled too,

“A daughter,” he breathed, but Elodie noticed that his smile was a strangely stiff one.

Inside, she was panicking. She had to tell him about Porthos or things would be even more uncomfortable later. How she was going to explain her first husband’s miraculous resurrection to her current husband was thankfully something she could postpone. 

    “Asher, I- I…” she wanted to finish that sentence. Tell him she remarried, but that final word was proving difficult. The reality that her entire life was suddenly changing again was setting in and it was terrifying. Asher just waited doltishly in silence.

    “I have to get these back to the garrison,” she said. Perhaps the conversation that needed to be had would be better conducted somewhere other than the middle of the construction district.

    “Garrison?” he asked, understandably confused. Elodie just said,

“There should be a hot meal waiting. We can talk.”

And they continued down the street together. Asher did not offer to carry her basket.

 

**~~~**

 

Upon her return, Elodie was greeted by Constance. The woman made her way over, beaming.

    “Oh you’re a lifesaver,” she said and took the basket from her. Her arm dropped slightly with the weight of it. The basket contained the nails they needed to put the finishing touches on the platform of the main building, as well as the boundless spare nails the garrison no doubt was going to need.

Behind Elodie was Asher, who was staring at his surroundings, looking rather lost. A boisterous neigh sounded from the stable.

    “And who’s this?” Constance asked. Elodie took Asher’s arm and lead him to her side.

“This is Asher Gauthier,” she said, “Asher, this is Madame Constance d’Artagnan. She’s as much in charge of the garrison as the Captain.”

    “The captain is my husband, Monsieur Gauthier,” Constance explained, grinning proudly. 

“Pleased to meet you, Madame,” Asher said with the slightest of nods.

Elodie paused. She trusted Constance more than anyone, but she still had to take a moment to consider what she let loose. Then she decided she wasn’t going to let herself hesitate, nobody deserved her reluctance. This situation was going to have to be resolved anyway, no point in standing there like an idiot.

    “Asher is my husband,” she said, and Constance went from smiling at this newcomer to looking her friend straight in the eye, her expression the most serious Elodie had ever seen. Her eyes told Constance everything she needed to know, like how her presumed late husband was yet to find out that his wife had remarried.

    “Oh,” she said, “Oh I see.” And she too paused, struggling with a surprise such as this. Then she put on her smile again and said,

    “Well come inside, both of you. There’s soup! Still warm on the fire, and bread of course.”

Constance led them to the new communal dining room, on the way handing the basket off to a cadet, who gave her a smile framed by boyish dimples in return. Inside, the low fire glowed beneath a large blackened pot. Despite all the furniture being relatively new, this was a venue where soldiers congregate, so all the tables had odd stains and countless nicks and holes caused by knives already. Only one cadet was sat at a table at the back, gnawing on a piece of bread and closely reading the pamphlet in his hand.

    “Here you go,” said Constance as she ladled some soup into a bowl. Now full with thin sloshing soup, she offered the bowl to Asher, a guest.

    “Thank you,” he said. By his manner, it seemed that he had finally caught on to how awkward the situation was. Perhaps he was wondering what his wife was doing in a place like this. Was she simply a maid who went on errands or was she welcome here for more undesirable reasons? Elodie declined a bowl for herself with a gesture to Constance. Instead, she walked over to the bench nearby and brought over what was left of a loaf of bread and sat down next to Asher who had already started eating. Elodie gave a look of thanks to Constance, who in turn looked at her friend sadly before suddenly remembering something. She bent down to tell Elodie, gently,

    “D’Artagnan is keeping an eye on Marie by the way.”

Elodie simply nodded her approval. She had assumed as much anyway. If ever little Marie-Cesette was not with either her mother or with Constance, she was with d’Artagnan in his office. The young captain certainly never minded the distraction from the more boring part of his job, and his child minding skills were most welcome. Some days it seemed like he was the only person who can get her to sleep.

    “Javet,” Constance called to the cadet at the back of the room, “we’ve got a bannister to put up, come on.”

The young man reluctantly tucked his reading material into his doublet and got up. He gave a courteous nod to Elodie before ducking past Madame d’Artagnan, lest she give him an earful about not working.

    “I suppose you two have a lot to catch up on,” Constance said, a reassuring hand on Elodie’s shoulder, “I’ll be outside. Sorry about the hammering.”

    “Thank you, Constance,” Elodie said sincerely, and Constance’s smile was tight as she nodded to the pair and left. Asher ate in silence for a few moments. He seemed to enjoy the soup. Elodie just watched him, formulating a conversation in her head. Even in her head, it wasn’t going well. Then, it was Asher who was the first to speak,

    “I know why you’re finding it difficult to talk to me…” he said, not looking up from his bowl. Elodie’s gaze, on the other hand, shot up. He couldn’t know about Porthos, not unless he had been asking after her before they met in the market. And if he noticed it, she was sure he’d assume the rings she wore was the one that tied her to him and not another. Besides, it really wasn’t like him to be so reserved and withholding. Then again, did she even know him enough anymore to make such assumptions?

When Elodie didn’t reply, Asher continued, saying,

    “I saw what happened to our home. You don’t have to be ashamed of leaving.”

“I’m not ashamed of anything,” came Elodie’s quick response, “It’s just that… You being here is such a surprise! I haven’t seen you in, well, more than a year.”

It had been 17 months since they had said goodbye. Felt like a lifetime ago. For Elodie, the realisation that it hadn’t yet been years was a strange one.

    “And I thought that you were killed in Freiberg,” she finished.

“Freiberg?”

    “Your whole battalion was wiped out…” she said sympathetically, trying to garner a response. Of the one time he’d been home since returning to the war as a general, Porthos felt better after unloading his stories from the front onto Elodie. This is what she was trying to do for Asher. Other women might hate to hear of the horrors, but Elodie truly did not mind. She had seen horrors too. She was wise to the fact that it’s never a good idea to push those experiences to the side. You’d go crazy.

Asher just sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, pushing the tips of his fingers over his eyes and scratching his palms with the prickly parts of his cheeks. The hammering that Constance had promised started up.

    “I’m sorry I brought it up,” she apologised, thinking she had upset him, “It must’ve been horrific-”

    “No…” he started.

For a brief moment, an absurd thought came into Elodie’s head: Did Porthos lie about Asher’s regiment just to have her to himself? Then she thought about their whole relationship and realised that was silly, but the tingling sensation from her brief panic remained.

After a moment and another deep sigh, Asher continued,

    “I was at Freiberg, it’s true, but I didn’t face any fighting.”

“What?”

Eyes wide, voice cracking, the disbelief was inscribed on Elodie’s face like a printed etching. The intrusive thoughts of a dishonest Porthos were returning.

    “I ran, alright?” said Asher, and he pushed out his chair harshly and got up, the screech the action made was violent and jarring.

    “I ran from that battle, and I ran from the whole war. I don’t regret it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He seemed so indifferent. Elodie just sat there, shocked, as she watched him pace over to the window. She thought about the men that came to her village in the forest- was Asher like them now? The banging of hammers wasn’t so loud, but it was naggingly constant.

    “You deserted?!”

“I suppose,” he said with another shrug. 

    “Asher, they _hang_ deserters.”

“You said it yourself, you thought I was dead, so does anyone else who cares. You can’t hang a dead man.”

As Asher avoided her eyes by staring out the window towards the stable across the yard, Elodie took a deep breath. His cowardice was so off-putting, the image in her mind of the man in front of her running from a fight while his comrades were slaughtered put the most terrible taste in her mouth and sank her heart down into her shoes. She once thought him brave for volunteering, now she was questioning everything she thought she knew about him.

The day her daughter was born, Porthos held her and confessed to her that he had once fled from a battle in the middle of the night. But this was no fair comparison. Porthos was ashamed, in the moment he was afraid and that’s why he left, but he still felt remorse. He returned to the camp the same night and no one knew about it until he told Elodie. Her first husband, however, never regretted abandoning his friends to their deaths.

It would appear that Porthos was the better man in this regard, but surely she owed it to Asher to uphold their vows over the ones she made to her second husband? She was so confused. Though she was realising that she had to tell him. Before they left this room she had to tell him.

    “I have to tell you something,” she said, “But before I do, promise me you’ll be understanding.”

Asher turned around and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t return to the table. He rolled his lips,

    “How can I promise that?”

“That’s fair…” Elodie said under her breath with an air of humour. She took another deep breath and announced,

    “I remarried.”

Her revelation was met with silence. A long and heavy silence. 

    “Please say something,” she pleaded after a few moments, eyes welling with tears that blurred the image of her husband. Elodie didn’t have to wait much longer for a response,

    “You married somebody else?”

He seemed hurt. Elodie got up from her chair and stepped towards him, trying to reassure him,

    “He’s a good man. A very good man,” she said, not realising that might not have been the best thing to say.

    “Better than me?”

“Asher…”

Elodie dismissed the notion by rolling her eyes, but inside she was trying to answer the question for herself. Perhaps Porthos was better in some ways, but it was Asher that was here now. It was Asher she married first. It was Asher that was her daughter’s real father.

He looked away from Elodie, scrunching his face. Elodie had never seen him react to anything like this. He looked as though he might cry. Though he only sniffed harshly.

    “Where is my daughter?” he asked, his composure suddenly regained.

“With d’Artagnan.”

    “And who the hell is that?”

Elodie stepped back towards her chair, but she did not sit down. She rested a hand on its back and dragged her other hand down her face in exasperation before cupping her cheek. The stress was getting to her, as she was sure it was getting to Asher as well. The air between them was growing thick with enmity. The banging going on outside wasn’t helping any. Elodie thought it might drive her mad.

    “He’s the captain of The People’s Musketeers and a very dear friend,” said Elodie. She left out the fact that he was also very much like a brother to Porthos.

“And this… This _other_ husband…?” he spat.

Elodie removed her hand from her face. Considering the recent revelation of the reason for Asher’s absence, Elodie had to be careful. However, she could find no way around the truth. Finally, she said,

“His name is Porthos du Vallon. He’s away fighting… He’s a general.”

Asher began rubbing his own face, roughly stroking his chin and over his lips as if he was scrubbing dirt from stone.

“A general, huh?” he laughed. It was a humourless laugh. The irony was not lost on him, but he did not find it funny.

“A _general_?” he repeated, this time with brows raised and eyes wide. Elodie did not respond. She didn’t know how. It was the truth, and sometimes the truth is hurtful, with no way to combat reality.

“Let me get this straight,” he continued, a hot anger rising, “I leave for war, with _my_ child in your belly. Then you go off and leave our home to marry a general? And he’s the one that you let pretend to be my child’s father?”

“You haven’t been here!” Elodie cried bitterly, “You were _dead_! What was I supposed to do?! I had a baby to take care of and no home, no family to help me. Marrying Porthos gave us a home, a life, security. I will not let you disparage him simply because he was there for me when you were not!”

The hammering stopped. Tears now streaming, chest heaving, Elodie slowly unfurled her fists. She had dug her short nails into her palms in anger without realising it. They only stung for a second. Asher looked to be near tears himself. He took a moment to contemplate. This made Elodie nervous. He sighed and stepped closer to her, gently saying,

“What do we do? Can we fix us? Can we be a family?”

He got close enough to take her hands into his. He just held her hands and tried to meet her eyes, but Elodie avoided his gaze. It felt so nice for her hands to be between his that she almost forgot about it all. About her world falling apart. Eventually, she said noncommittally,

“I’ll write to Porthos…”

Now that he was so close, she could speak a little quieter, softer. She was amazed that a moment so tender could follow her outburst. Though it was small, her smile returned and she at last met his eyes as she asked him,

“Do you want to meet your daughter?”

Asher’s smile returned too and he nodded. Keeping her hands in his, her face turned serious once more,

“Before you do, try to forget about what’s going on between us. She’s much more important.”

Asher was quiet as he agreed with another nod. His genuine interest could have warmed her heart. If only it wasn’t breaking.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> This is my first multi-chapter story in this wonderful fandom and I'm pretty excited about it!


	2. Chapter 2

Elodie knocked on the door to d’Artagnan’s office and from inside, the captain called,

    “Come in.”

After a quick look of reassurance to Asher, she opened the door. D’Artagnan was at his desk at the far end, the dark feather of his quill fluttering as he wrote carefully by candlelight. They had built a number of windows for this room, but it still grew dim by this time of day. Constance was in the office too, sitting in the plump red chair by a window across from her husband, little Marie bouncing on her knee. Only after every few words, d’Artagnan would shift his gaze from his letters to his wife and watch her with the baby contentedly. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight.  When Elodie entered with Asher, however, Constance stopped bouncing the giggly baby and d’Artagnan’s grin turned into something flatter.

    “D’Artagnan,” began Elodie, “This is-“

“Asher Gauthier,” the captain interrupted as he dropped his quill and stood up from the cluttered desk. Constance got up too as she shared a knowing look with Elodie. She carried Marie the short way over to her mother, who took her into her arms and proceeded to straighten her little white dress and flatten the soft blonde wisps on her head. Asher had only glanced at the baby before being distracted by d’Artagnan’s cold stare. From his years as a musketeer, particularly in missions of infiltration, the man knew how to hide his true feelings and tell a good lie. This did not seem an occasion for it though, as the look upon d’Artagnan’s face clearly showed his emotions. He did not like Asher.

    “Captain,” greeted Asher, “it’s a pleasure.” And the two shook hands, d’Artagnan’s grip perhaps stronger than necessary. Then Asher turned to Elodie and the baby on her hip. His face softened and he sighed happily.

    “Asher, this is Marie-Cesette… Your daughter,” said Elodie delicately, moving towards him. Asher opened his arms to take the child.

    “Marie, this is your papa.”

Elodie’s heart broke a little at saying that. To her, ‘papa’ was a grand title reserved only for Porthos. But things were different now. She had to accept that. It took a moment for Asher to decide how to hold Marie, but they both eventually settled and Marie began her usual play of trying to touch people’s faces. Asher laughed as he tried to gain control of the baby’s hands, but in the end, he just let her strike his cheek with the force of an infant, though it still made him flinch. Constance stood by d’Artagnan as she watched the scene with a smile on her face, her hand subtly on his back to remind him that it was not his place to have any part in this.

Elodie, in turn, had a hand on Marie’s back as she looked up and told Asher,

    “You know I prayed that you two would get to meet. Even if just once. And now you have.”

“It’s a dream come true,” he said with a laugh, “It means everything to me to see you alive and well, after all this time.”

    “Shall we go for a walk? The three of us?”

Marie’s presence was proving an effective cumber for Elodie and Asher’s resentment towards each other. Elodie wanted to talk more, with Marie there too she thought further conversation would go more smoothly.

    “I’d like that,” smiled Asher. Elodie turned to Constance. She needn’t say a thing, as Constance promptly said,

    “Take all the time you need.”

Confident that Asher would not drop her child, Elodie left her in his arms and started towards the door, Asher in tow. Just before leaving, d’Artagnan spoke up.

    “Hold on,” he said and went back to his desk. When Elodie saw what he wanted them to wait for, she smiled and went towards the desk too. D’Artagnan picked up the small wicker rattle, the bells inside jingling. At hearing the slight noise, Marie started babbling and shrieking. As d’Artagnan placed the toy in Elodie’s hand, he looked her in the eye with a pressing look. Elodie understood. She would have to talk with him as well later. Asher's presence changed things. She only prayed that he would not cast her out.

 

**~~~**

 

Now armed with her precious rattle, Marie shook it all about, occasionally hitting her father in the chest with it. The newly reformed family walked the streets of Paris together, admiring fanciful cloth and shiny trinkets in the arcade near the garrison.

Elodie didn’t know what to ask first. After what he had revealed already, she wasn’t sure if she wanted more answers. Once again, as Elodie was stuck in contemplation, Asher was the first to speak,

    “Why did you come to Paris?”

“It’s a long story…” Elodie trailed off. Asher just looked at her expectantly as Marie finally silenced her noisy rattle by chewing on the wooden handle with her budding teeth. 

    “Soldiers came to our home not long after you left. I fled and came across a band of women. They took me in and together we built a secret village in the woods. It was amazing…” she trailed off again, thinking back fondly on the place she called home for so long and the women there that she grew to love.

    “It’s where Marie-Cesette was born and-” Elodie suddenly stopped to consider what she was about to say, but shook her head to herself and said, “And where I met Porthos.”

    “When was this?”

“A little over ten months ago. It was then that I learned about Frieberg.”

Asher stopped in his tracks. It took Elodie a few seconds to notice, so she was slightly ahead of him as he viciously said,

    “Oh so then you just jumped into the arms of the man nearest to you?”

“Don’t, Asher,” warned Elodie, a stern look in her eye, “It wasn’t like that at all.”

Asher rolled his lips and closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. He was obviously trying to contain a rising outburst.

    “Only an hour ago you were dead to me. I never did anything to deplore your memory, I can assure you.”

Asher jostled Marie in his arms. She was growing restless, and Asher was without experience. Wordlessly, Elodie walked up to him with her arms open. He handed the baby over to her with no reluctance. Elodie cooed at her and shook the rattle for her. Marie grabbed the toy back from her mother and started shaking it herself again. This easily settled her, and Asher and Elodie continued down the mostly empty arcade. They walked slowly with the silence between them hanging over their heads until they floated by a collection of dusty second-hand carpets for sale.

    “But what about you?” began Elodie, “How did you come to Paris…? You fled from battle but then what?”

Asher paused, pretending to take an interest in a red and blue carpet decorated with ugly flowers. Elodie could tell that he too was wondering how much he should confess.

    “I was alone in a foreign land… I was on my own out there for weeks until I found my way back to our farm. But when I got there it had been razed to the ground, just like everything else for miles. I assumed you were either dead or had gone away to a place I’d never be able to find. Then I- I met some people and travelled with them for a while. Then things started to fall apart and I decided to try my luck in the _great city of Paris_ … I had only been here a few weeks when I ran into you. Amazing how luck would have it, aye?”

    “Lucky indeed.”

Elodie looked around at nothing, trying to put the pieces of his story together in her head. With one hand on Elodie’s shoulder, Asher reached over and stroked Marie’s chubby cheek with a hooked finger. She just shook her rattle and babbled nonsense in response. Up ahead were some steps, on one side of which the carpet collection continued. Elodie and Asher made their way up them.

    “But what have you been doing?” asked Elodie, “Where have you been staying?”

Asher ran a hand over the very short hair on his head and said,

    “I’ve been doing a few different jobs for people. Fixing roof tiles and the like. And I’ve just been living with some other fellas in a house on the Pont Notre-Dame.”

“I see.”

Now at the end of the arcade, they turned and aimlessly followed a street that led them to a market square. Though it was getting to be late in the day, merchants and vendors here were still out selling their wares. Mostly vegetables and hard, dry bread.

“But I suppose I’ll be living with you now. With both of you.”

Elodie looked up at him, a little worried.

“Oh. Well, we live at the garrison-“

“Wait here a moment,” he interrupted. He had spotted something in a far corner of the square and jogged over. Elodie reluctantly stayed put. She craned her neck to see where he went, and it looked to be a flower stall. She blushed to herself. Elodie had never been one for romantic gestures, she was simply too bashful when it came to such things, but she definitely appreciated them. While she waited, she lightly tickled Marie and cooed at her some more, much to the little girl’s delight. A moment later and Asher returned, holding something behind his back.

“What’s that you’ve got?” asked Elodie. Asher just grinned and revealed his purchase by whipping it out from behind his back. It was a single dried sunflower. The head of it was about the size of Marie-Cesette’s. There was scarcely a tinge of yellow left on the petals, and they had all shrivelled and folded into the deep black centre.

“I remember how much you like sunflowers,” said Asher, hope lilting his voice.

“I wanted to grow them by the front window,” Elodie sighed, tears beginning to sting her eyes. With her free hand, she reached out and took the flower and gazed at it. It was ugly. It was dead. But it was also beautiful and alive with memory.

When she and Asher were married and she started living in his house, the house his father and grandfather had built, Elodie tried her best to make the place more homely. What she always dreamed of having at that house was just a small patch of golden sunny sunflowers. Asher didn’t agree. He’d rather pay closer attention to their more economical crops and what livestock they had. Elodie had accepted it then, but the sunflower remained her favourite flower. Though she hadn’t even thought about sunflowers in a very long time. 

“Thank you, Asher,” she whispered and he cupped her face and smiled warmly. Then Marie tried to grab for the sunflower. She only got two petals before her mother pulled it away, laughing. They fell away from the head like autumn leaves. Marie stared at the petals in her little hand, opening and closing it and rubbing them with her clumsy fingers. Then she watched them float to the ground in pieces, totally entranced.

The three of them carried on for another hour before returning to the garrison. Some of that time was spent chatting about nothing, and the rest, for the first time, was spent in a comfortable silence.

 

**~~~**

 

“Is this is it then?” d’Artagnan asked, his tone cutting and angry. He was finally alone with Elodie in his office after an afternoon of her galavanting around Paris with this new man. But he wasn’t a new man, nor was he an old one. He was Asher Gauthier, the man who rose from the dead, but d’Artagnan knew he was no Christ.

“What’re you talking about?” 

“The husband you thought is dead has returned, so why would you stay here?” said d’Artagnan, pushing off from the back of his chair. Elodie was stunned. She frowned for a moment, trying not to cry before managing to say,

“I’ll leave as soon as possible-“

“But I don’t want you to leave is the thing,” interrupted d’Artagnan, his tone suddenly changed. Though it still sounded like he too was trying to stifle how upset he was,

"You may not be a musketeer but you’re still an invaluable asset here. Constance adores you and Marie- we all do. You’re practically _family_ , and…”

The young captain rolled his lips, head bowed before continuing,

“And I promised Porthos I’d keep you safe.”

Elodie scoffed,

“I can take care of myself thank you”

“Oh I’m well aware of that,” grinned d’Artagnan. It was true. He had made a promise to Porthos before he left that he would make sure his new wife was kept safe. It was also true that d’Artagnan knew that Elodie was more than capable of doing that herself. But how would d’Artagnan let her go? How would he explain to his brother that he let his wife leave for someplace where he couldn’t watch over her? Elodie saw all this in his face, the same conflict she saw in herself.

“I’m just not sure what to do,” breathed d’Artagnan, “I was hoping you’d decide for me.”

“Decide whether I stay or go?”

Although d’Artagnan’s side of the conversation had turned somewhat facetious to try and ease the dark mood, Elodie was still acutely aware that the future of her family was hinged on what was said in that room. At least the near future.

“Well, I can’t say I _want_ to leave. And even if I did I don’t think it’s fair to run off before Porthos knows what’s going on.”

“Fair enough,” d’Artagnan said with slight mirth.

“So you’ll allow us to stay?”

“ _Him_ too?” spat d’Artagnan irritably. If anything at least the captain’s opinions were clear. Elodie just shrugged apologetically.

“He can work,” she suggested.

“I don’t know, Elodie… Is it appropriate for him to be here, to _live_ here?”

“That’s for you to decide.”

D’Artagnan groaned. He took a moment to pace over to the window overlooking the yard. Down below some musketeers were returning from a mission. D’Artagnan sighed and pivoted on his heel to shake a pointed finger at Elodie as he said,

“I will allow it for the time being. Only for your sake and for Marie, but it will be up to you to explain it to Porthos.”

Then he turned back and leaned on the window frame. 

“Thank you, d’Artagnan,” said Elodie, “No matter what happens, I will make sure you are not at fault for any of it.” 

She spoke the last part with a subtle air of accusation. She was starting to resent him. D’Artagnan seemed to consider her life to just be another problem he had to deal with.


	3. Chapter 3

Elodie lay awake for hours that night. Asher slept soundly on a pallet on the floor in the other room, snoring just loud enough for it to be irritating. Marie-Cesette slept splayed out in her cradle next to Elodie’s bed in her usual way, her hands up by her head and legs well spaced out under the blanket. Elodie stared at her for a long time, watching the rise and fall of her breathing and the occasional twitch of her hand as she dreamt. But it wasn’t her daughter that was distracting her from sleep, nor was it Asher’s snoring. She was thinking about her options. There were many to consider:

She could run away with Asher and rebuild the life she once had.

She could convince Asher to leave and forget about her and Marie and stay with Porthos.

She could always run away with Marie and not be involved with any other man for as long as she lived. 

Or perhaps she could maintain both marriages and live happily ever after with both men.

“No… That would never work,” Elodie whispered to herself in the dark. She placed her hands over her eyes and sighed. Then she started to cry quietly. Asher wanted her to return with him to Burgundy to rebuild- _rebuild what_? But what sense did it make to live in a garrison with an absent husband? She was tortured by such thoughts constantly. 

The only thing she was able to decide on was to write to Porthos. What better time than the middle of the night?

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Elodie got up. She sniffled and cleared her throat quietly as she went over to put on her cloak and shoes.

Standing over Marie’s cradle, she wondered if she should scoop her up and take her with her or leave her to sleep. Asher was just in the next room, and she would probably be fine. As long as Elodie didn’t take too long. Still, she couldn’t help but reach into the cradle and stroke the fine hair on the little girl’s head. The baby did not stir.

Elodie crept past Asher sleeping on the floor and closed the door to the apartment as quietly as possible. She felt quite like a criminal sneaking around the garrison at night. She made her way up to the captain’s office soon enough and sat down at the desk. It took her a while to find the tinderbox in amongst the clutter. Once she did, she struck the flint and steel, igniting the charcloth. Holding the fire precariously she held the brimstone match to it, then once it was lit, she used it to light one lone candle. The soft glow of the moonlight in the room was replaced by the much brighter glow of the candle. Ready to start her letter, Elodie sighed at the blank paper in front of her. She had little experience with writing, and on top of that, the topic in concern was a sensitive one. Elodie wished Porthos was there with her. She wished he was there to help her. But he wasn’t. He was in a place she had probably never heard of fighting in the war that had cost her the life she once had. She prayed every day that God would keep him safe, but she still knew that every day could be his last. Yet she never wrote to him. This would be the first time.

 

 

_Porthos,_

 

_This letter is to inform you that my first husband is alive. In this, I am forced to choose between the two of you. Though I am deeply conflicted, I cannot ask you to choose for me._

_For the time being, Asher is staying with us, though naturally, somewhat separate. Words cannot describe my gratitude for all you have done for myself and for Marie. Please know that I do love you very much._

_You may be angry, but I know you to have the goodness in you to forgive him for this unintentional intervention in our lives._

 

_Stay safe,_

_Elodie_

 

Her handwriting was large and clumsy, but readable. It was done. She had wasted many pieces of paper in the process, but it was done.  As Elodie gently blew on the drying ink, she began to hear the tweeting of birds outside and looked to the window to see sunlight creeping in. Rather hurriedly, she waved the letter in the air before folding it carefully. Then she dug around for any sign of the wax d’Artagnan used. Elodie was finding out that the captain was unbelievably disorganised. Finally, she found it, and just held the flame of the now much shorter candle to it. The dark crimson wax dripped into a smooth puddle on the edge of her letter like blood. Elodie held the finished letter in her lap for a moment, staring at it. Her husband’s name shaped by her hand glared up at her. She couldn’t help but imagine Porthos receiving it. He would be overjoyed to hear from her after so long, but his heart would sink upon reading just the first line. Elodie dreaded that moment, although she would not be there to witness it. It pained her deeply that it was she who was going to do that to him. She swallowed her sadness and blew out the candle with a sharp puff. She left the room as she found it. 

 

**~~~**

 

Despite being awake all night, Elodie was not tired. Asher had taken a job pouring gravel on the Rue de Terre and she wouldn’t see him until the evening. It was nearly midday when Elodie was taking a break from her own chores. She was in the stables with Marie held facing outwards, petting a horse. Marie had been terrified of horses up until a week ago, now it would seem that she and Bella the horse were best friends.

“You like that?” Elodie asked the baby in a soft diminutive voice, “Nice horse. Be gentle.”

Marie clumsily patted the mare’s tan back, and Elodie guided her hand to stroke it lightly. Then Elodie heard d’Artagnan’s voice over the clanging of swords in the yard where some musketeers were practising,

“Did he say how many?”

“No sir.”

“Well that’s helpful.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not your fault.”

Elodie came out from behind Bella and curiously walked towards d’Artagnan and three other musketeers who all had their blue capes hanging over their shoulders. D’Artagnan was mounting his horse when Elodie asked,

“Are you leaving for the palace?”

The captain looked down at her as he adjusted his hat and settled into the saddle.

“Yes.”

Elodie shifted Marie to hold her on her hip and she dug into her skirts. The letter she had written the night before was pulled from her pocket bag and she held it out to d’Artagnan.

“Could you pass this on to Aramis? It needs to get to Porthos.”

“Of course, but it may be some time before-”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. D’Artagnan just rolled his lips and nodded before taking the letter and tucking it into his doublet. Now that the letter was in someone else’s hands, she felt disconnected in a way. Things were being put into motion, but Elodie was no longer the person in control. Porthos was going to find out. She still wished he wasn’t. He was a general in the middle of a war, she was sure he had more important things to concern himself with, but he was going to find out and there was nothing she could do about it. Nor would she know what he had to say for a long time, if he had anything to say to her at all.

 

**~~~**

 

Asher had been asking to sleep in her bed since he started living in her rooms. Every time, Elodie declined him. He didn’t seem to understand why. If he did, he didn’t care.

“You’re my wife, Elodie,” he said on the eighth night. Elodie let out a frustrated sigh as she finished cutting up a boiled carrot and put the small pieces into a bowl along with the much neater cubes of a potato.

“I know things aren’t as straightforward as you’d like them to be, but unfortunately it’s not as simple as ‘I am your wife’-”

“But you are my wife!”

“Stop it, Asher,” she said curtly. Asher followed her around the table where she put the bowl down and followed her still as she went to pick up Marie who was playing with her rattle on the floor of the bedroom.

“Why are you so worried about him!? He’s not here! If you insist on staying in this hell hole of a city instead of coming with me to rebuild our home, then fine. But the least you could do is show a little affection!”

Holding her daughter close to her chest, Elodie shook her head amusedly,

“You act as if I’ve gone cold, but you and I both know that it was you who was always cold to me. Our daughter’s existence is a miracle in itself.”

“What are you saying?”

Elodie sat down at the table with Marie in her lap and gently took the rattle from the baby’s grip. Not looking him in the eye, she said,

“I’m saying you barely touched me in the two years before you left, why the sudden interest?”

Her question was met with silence. This time, it was not a particularly comfortable one. Elodie dragged the bowl to the edge of the table and took a piece of carrot and held it in front of Marie. The little girl considered the squishy orange cube for a moment before grabbing for it and shoving it in her mouth. Before she finished eating it, she was grabbing for more from the bowl and Elodie let her, she only held it so Marie wouldn’t knock it over. Asher stood behind them in the doorway.

“What are you doing, Elodie?” he asked. Elodie glanced back at him,

“I’m feeding Marie,” she said indignantly.

“You know what I mean. What are you doing in this place? You don’t have to stay for him. This is your life.”

“I know it is. That’s _why_ I’m staying here. For now,” she said. ‘For now’- did she only say that for Asher’s benefit? Even she did not know.

“This is my home. It’s where my friends are, where I have purpose. Porthos gave me this life. I came here with nothing and he just gave it to me,” she said, her shoulders rounding with a happy disbelief.

“I owe him so much, the least _I_ can do right now is give him time and stay right here until he sends word. If he wants me gone, then we’re gone. If he wants me to stay, then I’ll figure it out-”

“Wait. What?” Asher interjected. He walked around to the other side of the table and stared Elodie down, which made her feel uneasy.

“Are you saying that _we_ are not a given? You’d actually stay with this man if he asked?” 

Elodie shook her head,

“Damn it, Asher-”

“Tell me,” he said, crossing his arms, “here and now who do you choose!?”

Elodie just stared at him blankly. She wasn’t ready to answer that. For over a week she had been asking herself that question and she still had no answer. Marie started crying, her chubby hands and chin covered in a bright orange mush. She had been picking around the potato.

“WHO DO YOU CHOOSE!?” boomed Asher, making Elodie jump. Marie bawled harder and Elodie began crying as well. She shrank into the chair, hugging her daughter protectively. She really didn’t know what he was going to do. He was so angry, his face turning red with rage. Then suddenly that anger died down and turned into indifference.

“To hell with this,” he said, turning towards the door. He stormed out. Elodie jumped again at the sound of him slamming the door. As she tried to calm herself and her child, bouncing the baby in her lap and breathing shallowly, her eyes were drawn to the dead sunflower lying on the windowsill.

 

**~~~**

 

Two musketeers who had heard the commotion came to her that night, concerned. Elodie assured them that nothing was wrong and they believed her. One of the youngest musketeers, Lorenzo, said he would kill Asher if he ever abused her. Elodie acted instinctively when she told him that she’d kill _him_ if he ever touched her husband in an unduly manner. That shut him up and the rest of the garrison too. Though she was sure d’Artagnan would hear of it when he got back, and then she’d never hear the end of it.

She told Constance the truth. Some of it anyway. 

Afterwards, Elodie insisted neither of them concern themselves with what happened, and the pair continued to sit and chat with cups of wine in Constance and d’Artagnan’s place. They both had their eyes on Marie as she crawled about, indecisively moving between toys. As Constance leaned down, smiling and cooing at Marie, Elodie looked at her friend. Though it wasn’t something they talked about, they had much in common in that they were both widows who had remarried to musketeers. Constance and d’Artagnan’s love story was one Elodie admired very much. Particularly Constance’s courage in the face of adversity. If it hadn’t been for the Queen's acceptance of the couple, they might not have made it. Constance had been a married woman when she met d’Artagnan. Back then she would’ve been plagued by a similar conflict and guilt that Elodie was now going through.

“Constance…” began Elodie.

“Hmm?” 

Constance didn’t look up from gazing at Marie. Elodie hesitated, unsure of the conversation she was about to delve into. Then Constance looked up at her expectantly and saw the apprehension on her face.

“Elodie?” was all she said, and Elodie carefully asked,

“If Bonacieux walked through that door right now, would you feel obligated to return to him?”

Constance paused, blinking for a moment before turning her attention back to Marie who was hitting the floor with the handle of her rattle.

“Your situation is different and you know it,” she said lightly. Elodie shifted to the edge of her chair,

“Is it? Your husband died and then you married d’Artagnan. My husband died and then I married Porthos. The only difference is that my husband came back.”

“It is different,” Constance replied, looking back up at her friend, her expression earnest, “For one thing I was already in love with d’Artagnan long before Bonacieux died.”

“But would you have left Bonacieux? That’s what I’m asking. If suddenly he came back and wanted you to be his wife and not d’Artagnan’s, what would you do?”

Elodie knew she was being pushy. To be prodded with questions about her late husband, Elodie knew how she would feel if it were her; but Constance was the only person she knew who might understand. 

“I don’t know…” Constance breathed, “He attempted suicide once when he thought I had gone off with d’Artagnan. He said he’d do it again if I ever did.”

“That’s awful,” whispered Elodie.

“There was no real love in that marriage at all… After that, I only stayed with him so he wouldn’t kill himself. That is, until d’Artagnan was willing to sacrifice himself for me. Well, after that what else was I going to do?” Constance said with a laugh. Elodie’s tone remained serious. 

“So you wouldn’t? If Bonacieux came back from the dead, you wouldn’t leave d’Artagnan for him?”

“No,” came Constance’s quick response. She seemed surprised by it, “No I don’t think I would. I’m a different woman now. I don’t let men push me about,” she said cheekily.

Elodie was silent. She stared at a small knot in a plank in the floor, trying to find her own answer, but her mind was blank. She had thought about every option she had so many times that her mind just wouldn’t let her reflect anymore. When she looked back up, Constance had stood up and was walking over to her. She sat on her haunches, a hand on Elodie’s in her lap.

“So what should I do?” Elodie asked her. Then her face crumpled and she broke down in tears, “Constance what do I do?”

As Elodie sobbed and Constance stroked her hair as she held her, little Marie saw her mother in distress and crawled over to the armchair. She pulled herself up by the edge of it and stood to reach with one arm up to her mother, while she supported herself on the chair with the other. She babbled loudly and confidently and got Elodie’s attention. She sniffed and let go of Constance to turn to see her baby standing up.

“Oh Marie,” she gushed, and picked her up. She hugged her daughter close to her as she cried some more, Constance rubbing her back in the most calmative fashion. Marie-Cesette, her darling child. No matter what, Elodie had to do what was right for her. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Asher hadn’t returned. Elodie thought when he stormed off that he would be back within a day, but he wasn’t. Part of her was relieved. If he really was gone, then he’d made her dreaded choice for her. The other part of her was gravely concerned. Anything could’ve happened to him.

“Are you sure he’s not just on a job?” Constance asked her when she expressed this concern on their way to the community house. She navigated the streets carefully atop the food-laden wagon, gently pulling the reins. Elodie was sat next to her, Marie fussing in her lap. The little girl wanted nothing more but to pet the horses.

“He hasn’t come back the last two nights,” complained Elodie, “I just want to talk with him.”

“Well do you know where he is?”

Elodie sighed, the prospect of searching the whole city not one she wanted to face. Then she remembered something,

“There’s only one place I can think of. The Pont Notre-Dame. That’s where he was living before he found me that day.”  
Constance glanced at Elodie, brows raised as she said,

“The Pont Notre-Dame? That’s rather classy.”

“Is it?”

“Well, much more than the garrison… You should go. If you seek him out, he might be more open to understanding your side of things.”

“Hmm maybe,” contemplated Elodie. She shifted Marie to hold her closer. Elodie couldn’t wait to get to the community house where she could set the baby down safely in a basket. Until then she endured the wagon ride.

“You can go this afternoon,” said Constance, “The sooner the better.”

“But the meal-“

“Will still be served. I only need your help for the first hour or so.”

Constance looked over at Elodie kindly, waiting for her to accept.

“Yes alright,” she said. Constance smiled,

“And I can take Marie for you.”

“Oh is that what this was all about? You just wanted some time with her, huh?” joked Elodie. Constance laughed deeply before saying,

“Of course.” 

 

**~~~**

 

Two hours later and there was finally a lull. More people were turning up to be fed every week, which was a good thing, it was just more work. Elodie undid her apron and passed her ladle on to one of the local girls. She walked through to where the food was being prepared. There was a lull in here too. The women were standing around chatting, Constance acknowledged her when she came in, meeting her eyes and smiling. Elodie smiled back before bending down under the table by the wall. Marie-Cesette lay there in her basket on top of her yellow blanket, sleeping on her front, her cheeks a glowing pink from the warmth of the cooking fire. Her wicker rattle was still grasped firmly in her hand. Elodie stroked her hand, her cheek, and the slightly sweaty fair locks upon her head.

“I asked Lorenzo to escort you,” said Constance from behind her. Elodie turned on her haunches on the floor.

“He’s readied two horses if you’re all set.”

Elodie nodded and pushed herself up, grasping the edge of the table rather inelegantly on the way. She found that a strand of hair had come undone and was tickling her face. She took the time to re-pin that part of her hair, the whole time gazing down at the floor in deep thought. Constance stood patiently. 

“What if I don’t find him?” Elodie asked when she looked back up at her friend. Constance rolled her lips and then brought them tightly together in a manner that swelled her cheeks. It was evident she didn’t know what to say. Or perhaps there was just nothing to be said.

“And if I do, what then?”

After a brief moment, Constance brought Elodie into a hug and said into her ear,

“We don’t let men push us about. Remember that.”

Outside, a tall dark man was waiting. Wordlessly, Lorenzo helped Elodie onto a horse and got atop the other. Elodie looked down at Constance who simply said,

“Good luck.”

 

**~~~**

 

The bridge was thankfully somewhat close by. And the houses atop the bridge were quite fine indeed, just like Constance had said. As Elodie rode up with Lorenzo, she gazed up at the first few. They were all identical; built with stone, a fleur de lys mounted at each blue roof peak six floors above. Elodie began to wonder if Asher had lied to her. How could he afford to live here?

There were thirty to each row. When they began approaching the first house of the row on the left, Elodie slowed and dismounted.

“I’m going to have to knock on every door,” she grumbled, then turned to Lorenzo who had just planted his feet on the cobbles. The young musketeer had been quiet on the way over from the community house and he remained quiet still.

“I’ll be quick about it, just wait here,” she told him, handing him the reins of her horse. Her musketeer escort stood on the street holding both horses and Elodie walked up to the first house. A mousy maid answered the door promptly.

“I’m looking for a man by the name of Asher Gauthier, do you know where I can find him?”

The maid didn’t say a word and slammed the door in Elodie’s face.

“Never mind,” she mumbled to herself and walked over to the next door, Lorenzo not far behind. This went on for a while, each house offering varying levels of rudeness. Then halfway down the row, Elodie walked by a house that had been damaged by fire. Some of the perfect stones that graced every other house had been blackened and chipped, and the glassless windows had been boarded up. Nobody lived there anymore. So Elodie walked past it, Lorenzo with the horses in tow. Just then, the faint sound of a chorus of deep laughter was heard. Elodie kept walking, but Lorenzo stopped in his tracks and spoke aloud for the first time that afternoon,

“Did you hear that?” he asked, and Elodie turned to him. She had heard it but had thought nothing of it. She looked around for a moment, trying to discern where the laughter might have been coming from, and listened intently to try and hear it again.

“It came from there,” Lorenzo said, pointing back at the house scorched by fire. He was a musketeer, she trusted his sense more than she did her own. Lorenzo followed Elodie closer than he had been as she walked to the front door of the abandoned house. The door too had been blacked around the edges by flame but was still in one piece. She knocked on it, her heart thumping in her chest. She was met with no answer. But as she turned to leave, quite relieved, she heard a rustling from inside. Then a man called,

“Who goes there?”

Elodie glanced back at Lorenzo, he had both reins in one hand, the other on his pistol. 

“I’m looking for a man by the name of Asher Gauthier,” she called back.

“Oh? And who are you?”

“His wife!”

Elodie heard a commotion behind the door. Shuffling and stern words she couldn’t make out. Then the door opened with a creak. There stood Asher, dusty and dirty and smelling like the worst tavern in Paris, yet he was still clean shaven. 

“What are you doing here?” he said after a moment of confused looks toward her. Elodie did her best to breathe through her mouth, the stench coming from inside the house was unimaginable. What she could see inside was abysmal. There were three sleeping mats on the charred floor in front of an elegantly patterned settee with numerous holes. There were at least six men in that room alone. With dirty faces, they all stared at her from behind Asher. Elodie could only shake her head, trying not to cry. She turned to leave, her heart broken all the more. Lorenzo had his eyes on Asher as Elodie walked away.

“Elodie, stop,” he called, “Don’t get on that horse-“

“You’ve made yourself clear, Asher,” Elodie snapped, “You’d rather be here in a place like this than with your family.”

She was embarrassed to be crying, especially on a street like this, but she couldn’t help it. She had a flurry of strong emotions inside her, it was taking all she had to keep them inside.

“I was angry. I had nowhere else to go-”

“You didn’t have to _go_ anywhere!” she screamed at him. She was shocked by her own outburst and took a moment to breathe. Lorenzo stepped closer. Elodie wiped away her tears and told Asher,

“No. No, I’m not doing this with you out here.”

“Then come inside,” he pleaded. Elodie scoffed,

“I’m not going in there,” she said contemptuously, “Look, if you want to be a part of Marie’s life then by all means, come along.”

She didn’t really expect him to accept. At this point, Elodie would’ve been content in not knowing him any longer. He had shown his true colours. But he was still the father of her child, and if she knew nothing else about him anymore, she knew that he cared about Marie-Cesette.

“Denounce him,” Asher said seriously. Elodie was taken aback but stayed strong.

“Not. Here,” she said and turned to get on her horse. Lorenzo helped her up and stared Asher down for a moment before stepping backwards to get on his own horse. Elodie and her musketeer escort did not move on right away. Though she still wasn’t expecting him to, she waited for Asher, her eyes on the end of the bridge where carriages were rolling by. At the last second, Asher wordlessly walked up to Lorenzo, and the musketeer helped him up onto the horse behind him.

 

**~~~**

 

When they got back to the garrison, Asher was immediately asked to help with the horses by the stable boy. A humiliating request, Asher complied anyway. While he had been living at the garrison in Elodie’s rooms, it was under the condition that he pull his weight. As Asher began taking off the saddle of one of the horses they had ridden in on, Elodie followed him around.

“You did yourself a great disservice by going back there, you know,” she said, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Wandering Paris at night…” Elodie shook her head, “You could’ve been killed.”

Asher irritably dumped the saddle on the fence and it came down with a thud. 

“But that’s what you want, isn’t it? So your life can go back to the way it was,” he said looking her dead in the eye, antagonising her. Elodie’s face fell. 

“Is that what you think of me?”

She had had the horrible thought that if he were gone that it’d solve her problem, but she never wanted him dead.

“You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise…” Asher said, flailing his arms, “You never thought to tell me that you don’t love me. That you’d rather be with that lousy general of yours. Who isn’t even here by the way. He’s probably going to _die_ out there. What then? What would become of my daughter?”

Elodie stood there in the stables, tears prickling her eyes and saw no similar emotion on Asher’s face. He was angry, he was frustrated, but damn it so was she.

“Don’t you see how hard this is for me?!” she shouted at him. The few people behind them in the yard and even from inside the main building were staring and Elodie lowered her voice, partly in shame, and partly for her own benefit. She could feel herself getting riled up. She wasn’t going to let Asher get to her.

“You think I should go with you back to Burgundy because as my first husband I should uphold our vows over the ones I made to my second. But Asher…” she said, “I value those vows too. Staying here isn’t about whether or not _I love you_ , it’s about respect! And it’s about what’s best for my child.”

“What’s best for her is being with her father,” he said flatly and went around to take off the horse’s bridle. Elodie scrunched up her face to stop the tears when he couldn’t see her and swallowed before walking over to him. She spoke calmly when she said,

“There are many things to consider and that is one of them… Porthos might yet denounce _me._ I just want us to wait, alright? Just wait here and be pleasant to one another. Does that sound fair to you?”

“Fine,” Asher said dismissively and Elodie gave a tight-lipped smile and a nod with tears in her eyes. Lorenzo tried to stop her as she walked across the yard, but she ignored him.

 

**~~~**

 

D’Artagnan returned from his three-day mission that evening. He was informed almost as soon as he rode through the gate about Asher’s outburst and subsequent bolting the other night. He called for Elodie immediately, and she showed up to his office with Marie on her hip, not knowing what to expect.

“So. I hear our guest ran off the other night,” he said, his hands on his hips as he paced the floor. He was covered in dust from the road and stank of horse. Elodie did not sit down as she jostled the fussing baby in her arms.

“Yes, but I brought him back today.”

“Where was he?”

“In a rat-infested burned out den for drunks,” Elodie spat, a stifled cry caught in her throat. She was still annoyed with Asher, infuriated even. She wasn’t able to filter what she revealed to the captain, but she wasn’t sure she even wanted to. D’Artagnan saw the pain on her face and stopped pacing. 

“What was he doing there?” he asked. Elodie breathed out a laugh, 

“He lived there! He told me he was taking good jobs, but really he was… I dread to think.”

Marie was still fussing, she didn’t care that her mother was upset, it was her bedtime. But Elodie still used her as a small distraction. She rocked her and kissed her head and hugged her tightly.

“How could a soldier have ended up living like that…?”

Elodie stopped rocking Marie, frozen in place. She could feel the resentment inside her forming into something even more sinister. Something like betrayal.

“Well he’s not…” she started, then paused. She looked down into her daughter’s face, her big blue eyes blinking slower and slower as sleep was finally finding her. Elodie prayed that same peace might find her.

“He’s not what?” d’Artagnan pressed.

“Has Asher spoken at all about how he survived Freiberg?” Elodie asked slowly. 

“No,” d’Artagnan said unsuspectingly. He waited for Elodie to continue, but she was starting to fall apart. Her vision was blurring with tears and she couldn’t speak, all her words stuck at the base of her throat. 

“Tell me, Elodie…” the captain pressed again, his tone now stern. Elodie squeezed her eyes shut, tears now rolling down her cheeks.

“He deserted didn’t he?”

D’Artagnan had come to the conclusion all on his own. He had always known there was something villainous about that man. Elodie nodded, tears pouring as she clutched her baby close to her chest. D’Artagnan looked at her, a mess of a woman, and he yelled as he punched the shelf next to him, hard. 

“How dare you bring him here. You let me harbour a criminal, a deserter!”

“I’m so sorry,” sobbed Elodie. She sat down in that plump red chair and put a hand to her face. D’Artagnan continued to shout, 

“You knew the whole time and you said nothing. This cannot get out. If the red guard heard about this… The queen-!”  
“No one will know!” Elodie assured, “He won’t be back here, I promise. Just- just please don’t hand him over. He’ll be executed, and I- I-” and she broke down completely. She didn’t even think yet of the implications of what she had just done, all that she felt in that moment was sorrow. She was losing Asher all over again. Should she have been more attentive?

D’Artagnan resigned to comforting her despite his anger. He knelt down next to her and just held her, his head resting on hers as she cried, rocking back and forth.

“Like you said. No one will know.”

 

**~~~**

 

D’Artagnan came with Elodie to meet with Asher in her apartment after a lengthy spout of crying, followed by trying to get Marie to calm as well. As soon as they were inside, Elodie tensed, and she knew it must be the same for the others. Asher was sat at the table, picking at his nails. When d’Artagnan came in behind Elodie, he immediately stiffened and leaned back into his chair, the wood creaking. Elodie went straight through to the other room to put Marie down. As soon as she was on her back, the baby stretched her arms up to her head and smacked her pouty lips. When Elodie came back through, d’Artagnan and Asher were staring each other down. The tension and the silence in the room was piercing. Elodie looked to d’Artagnan, wanting him to start things off. He did not. He only stared, a small smile playing on his lips. With the men at opposite ends of the table, Elodie stood to the side, formulating her words carefully.

“Asher,” she started, her voice not as clear as she had hoped it would be, “you can’t stay here anymore.”

Asher smiled to himself,

“You wanted me to wait here.”

“Yes. Well…”

Elodie looked to d’Artagnan for help, but the captain did not even look away from Asher for a second. She took a deep breath and said,

“There is a place where you can stay. The family of a friend of mine owns a tavern. It’s nearby. I’ll pay your board.”

“Elodie…” murmured d’Artagnan in warning. Elodie paid him no attention. 

“I am still open to you being in my life, but surely you must realise that you are a different man to the one I once knew. That’s why I’m wary of allowing you to be a father to Marie-”

“Hey! She’s my daughter!” Asher called out, affronted. D’Artagnan glanced at the wall, on the other side of which Marie was sleeping. Asher had no argument, at least not in front of the captain, so merely grumbled.

“I’m wary of allowing you to be a father to Marie… Until you find yourself again,” Elodie said sadly, with all sincerity.

“Pack your things,” said d’Artagnan after Elodie’s words had a moment to sink in. Asher pushed his tongue over his bottom teeth and rolled his lips before nodding. Every move he made was with purpose. He got up out of his chair and sauntered over to the windowsill. He took hold of the dried sunflower he had given Elodie the day they were reunited, and plucked a single papery petal from it.

“This is all I have,” he said, and he tucked it into the pocket of his breeches, probably tearing it in the process. Elodie stared at him as he did this, and d’Artagnan looked on confusedly. Was now the time for him to become a poet? Elodie pulled out her purse from her skirts and spilt its contents onto her hand. 22 livre in total, she handed it all over to Asher, much to d’Artagnan’s dismay.

“Here,” she told him, and he took the money. They met eyes for a moment. His were filled with regret as hers were with tears. Elodie wrapped her arms around her husband.

“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered. D’Artagnan opened the door and held it for Asher. He slipped from Elodie’s hold and trudged out with not so much of a word. He didn’t ask to see Marie.

Now alone, d’Artagnan gone to take Asher to the tavern, Elodie sat at the table, expecting to cry. But she found herself just sitting there, fiddling with her skirt, staring at the sunflower. She had cried too much over Asher Gauthier. There were no more tears to give.

She got back up and walked over to the windowsill, drawn to the flower on it. She picked it up by its thick fuzzy stalk and looked it up and down. Then she went through to her bedroom and hid it away in a chest. When Asher had first given it to her, she had loved it and the memories it held. Now she realised that it was just one dead sunflower.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on to your cavalier hats, kids. It's about to get positively soapy in here.

A week passed, and things had gone back to normal. Elodie was ready to see Asher. He’d been staying at the tavern, separate from her, hopefully starting to sort his life out. She awoke slowly, and in her groggy state got up to wake Marie. The cradle was empty, the rattle Marie loved so dearly lying on the floor. Panicked, Elodie reasoned that she could’ve climbed out on her own. Marie was crawling and could pull herself up on things, who’s to say she couldn’t climb yet?

“Marie!? Marie!?” Elodie called out, frantically searching the room.

“Don’t hide from mama, please don’t hide.”

Her baby was gone. Panting heavily, Elodie clutched her middle as she sank to her knees helplessly. She screamed out until she ran out of breath. She sobbed on the floor in the dim light of early morning, her throat sore from screaming. But that pain was nothing compared to the pain of her utter despair.

Her distress brought musketeers running. Lorenzo hurried in with his pistol at the ready, but when he saw there was no danger, he rushed to Elodie. She continued to cry loudly, like he wasn’t even there.

“Madame,” he said, “Madame, what is it?”

Constance came next. Like Lorenzo, she had been nearby when she had heard Elodie scream. Seeing her friend like this, she almost fell apart herself. She fell to her knees and put a hand to Elodie’s back. The woman was shaking as she cried.

“Elodie, what happened? Are you hurt?” she begged. When Elodie didn’t respond, Constance looked around the room. Her eyes fell on the rattle that lay on the floor by Marie’s cradle. She swallowed and got up slowly before walking over to it, dreading what she might see. When she saw that the cradle was empty, she turned around, confused.

“Where’s Marie?” she asked. Elodie slowly regained as much of her composure as she could. Her voice was strained, her words reluctant to come forth,

“He took her. I just know he did, he took her. _He took her_!” and she broke down again. Lorenzo tried his best to comfort her, an unmoving hand on her shoulder. He was thankful when Constance took over. She fell back down to her friend’s side and hugged her. Elodie still sat with her arms across her middle, she felt sick, but Constance held her tight, shushing her. They stayed like that for a long time. Then Elodie eventually released herself from her own grasp and reached around to hold Constance. When she did, Constance sighed.

“Shh, it’ll be alright,” she said softly. To Lorenzo, who had stepped back, she said,

“Bring d’Artagnan. Now.”

And the young musketeer quickly left, pushing through the other musketeers and cadets crowding the doorway.

 

**~~~**

 

Time was of the essence, Elodie knew it. She had never felt such despair and desperation and it frustrated her that her emotions were halting things. She just wanted her baby back. She sat on her bed, wrapped in a blanket, Marie’s little wicker rattle held loosely in her lap. How could this have happened? A child snatched from the cradle next to her as she slept, right under the noses of _musketeers_?

“A horse was stolen too. Can you think of where he might’ve gone?” asked d’Artagnan. Elodie looked up at the captain standing over her. Elodie knew of only one place Asher had ever wanted to be.

“South-East. For Burgundy,” she said flatly.

D’Artagnan sighed and turned to Lorenzo, speaking to him in a hushed tone. The young man nodded as his captain spoke, and then left the apartment. Constance sat down next to Elodie and put an arm around her as she offered her a cup of wine. Elodie declined. She just sat there, frozen.

“I’ll ride out with Lorenzo immediately. Even if he rode through the night, he couldn’t have gone very fast with a baby with him. We’ll catch up.”

“I’m coming,” said Elodie. D’Artagnan shook his head and knelt down in front of her and held her hand.

“You can’t come with us. If there’s a standoff, it’s best you’re not there. Besides, you’re in no state to go anywhere right now. Don’t worry. We’ll bring her back.”

Elodie gave a small nod. She understood. She trusted d’Artagnan, he was family. He would bring her daughter home.

 

 

**~~~**

As soon as they left the city, they rode hard. For miles. The sun was high in the clouded sky when d’Artagnan and Lorenzo finally slowed. They had reached an inn. If Asher had come this way, he might have stopped here. D’Artagnan and Lorenzo dismounted and led their horses to the stable out front. As d’Artagnan hitched his horse, Lorenzo paused before pointing to the only other horse hitched there with a look to his captain. A tan mare next to a studded bridle and a blue saddle blanket fringed with pale gold. The gear was the same as what was on their horses. It was the horse missing from the garrison. D’Artagnan looked at Lorenzo and simply nodded. They entered the inn. Inside, an old woman with faded red hair stood behind the bar next to the stairs.

“What can I do for you boys?” she asked as they approached. D’Artagnan smiled,

“We’re looking for a man. Would’ve had a baby with him, would’ve been alone. Is he here?”

The innkeeper sniffed and said,

“Yeah he _was_ here, but I told him we don’t allow children here and he left.”

D’Artagnan’s smile widened and he turned to lean on the bar and tapped the pauldron on his shoulder with two gloved fingers. 

“Well we’re musketeers,” he said mystically, “and that man kidnapped that baby. So it’d be really helpful if were here. We just want to uphold the law.”

The woman was silent, but her eye twitched as she stared at d’Artagnan. The captain rolled his lips and gave a breathy laugh.

“And you know it’s funny that he _isn’t_ here, considering the horse he also stole is right outside.”

“Upstairs, last room on the landing.”

“Thank you, madame.”

The musketeers quietly crept up the stairs, readying their pistols. Knowing that Marie was up there made d’Artagnan nervous. He hoped no shots would be fired. Once they reached the door, d’Artagnan looked to Lorenzo, who nodded to him that he was ready. D’Artagnan knocked on the door with the butt of his pistol.

“Go away!” called a familiar voice. In a flash, d’Artagnan kicked the door in one fell swoop, causing a loud bang, followed by another softer bang when the door hit the wall. Marie started bawling. Asher had his arm over his eyes, laying down on the bed with Marie held at his side, but jumped with fright when the musketeers entered, a total of three pistols trained on him. 

“Monsieur Gauthier,” tutted d’Artagnan as he put his weapon away and went to pick up Marie, with no resistance from her father. Lorenzo kept his pistols on Asher, a smirk tugging at his lips. He was more than ready to pull the trigger. As soon as the baby was in his arms, she stopped howling but was still clearly upset. It became very apparent very quickly that she had soiled herself, and d’Artagnan recognised her cry as one of desperate hunger.

“D’Artagnan, please. Please spare me. I know I’ve done wrong-”

“Tie him up and bring him outside,” commanded the captain, and Lorenzo obeyed, retrieving a length of rope from his belt. Marie’s yellow blanket hung over the edge of the bed like a flag indoors, and D’Artagnan swiped it and walked out of the room with Marie on his hip. On his way downstairs, the innkeeper apologised profusely, but he ignored her. He walked past her and through to the kitchen where he found a bowl of fruit. He picked up a plum and tossed it in the air before handing it to Marie who took hold of it with both hands. He also looked around and found a small pile of folded cloths. He took one of those too. He took it by the corner and let it unfold, it was quite long, then switched to hold it with the hand that held the blanket and the baby. Then he sauntered out of the kitchen, tipping his hat to the innkeeper sarcastically as he left. 

He came outside to see Lorenzo pushing Asher to the ground, his hands bound behind him, head bowed. D’Artagnan handed Marie, and the collection of fabrics that came with her, over to Lorenzo. The captain’s happy attitude with the baby suddenly turned dark as soon as she was out of his arms.

“I should just kill you right now,” he said, crouching down in front of Asher.

“Please-”

“Deserter, kidnapper, what other crimes have you committed on top of that, huh? No doubt you’re also a thief? A cheat?” 

As he talked, d’Artagnan roughly pulled the coins from Asher’s pockets. This was Elodie’s money.

“Don’t kill me, for the sake of Elodie, please-”

Asher was cut off by d’Artagnan punching him in the face. At this, Lorenzo walked away, bouncing Marie in his arms and making goofy faces at her. Spitting blood, Asher swayed in place. D’Artagnan punched him again, making the man almost fall over. He turned and walked away in a huff. He only went a few paces before he turned back again, pulling his knife from his belt. Asher squirmed, his shuffling was close to hysterical as he tried to get away. His feet tucked under his behind failed him, and the hits he took to the head made moving dizzying. D’Artagnan calmly crouched back down and cut Asher’s bonds. The man started crying.

“Thank you, d’Artagnan, thank you,”

Ever so quickly, d’Artagnan grabbed Asher by the shoulder and brought the knife up to his throat. Asher froze. 

“I’m doing this for Elodie,” he said, a foreboding darkness in his eye, “Now go. Walk that way and don’t look back.” And he took the blade from Asher’s throat to point it down the road, away from the way they had come.

“If I ever see your face in Paris again I will kill you on sight, you hear me?”

Asher swallowed and said,

“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Now go. Go!” shouted d’Artagnan, and Asher scurried away. When he got to the road, he gave a short glance to the men and his daughter and continued walking. He didn’t look back again. Lorenzo walked back to his captain, watching Asher go. D’Artagnan touched Marie’s head and lightly kissed the soft blonde hair that curled at the ends. She just tried to touch his face, and he let her. 

“We tell Madame du Vallon that he got away. Nothing more,” said d’Artagnan. Lorenzo nodded his understanding.

As Lorenzo held Marie, d’Artagnan put the gear back on the stolen horse and fastened her to his saddle before leading all three horses out of the stable. 

“Bella. Bella Bella. Bella,” babbled Marie, waving her plum up and down.

“The blanket,” said d’Artagnan once on his horse. Lorenzo pulled the blanket from his grasp and passed it to d’Artagnan who fashioned it into a sling across his chest. He smiled to himself once it was completed, and reached out for Marie.

“Come here, darling.”

He managed to tuck the baby in the sling, where she was quite comfortable.

They only rode for about a mile when they stopped to sit beneath a large sycamore tree at the edge of a grassy field. Daunting though it was, d’Artagnan put it upon himself to change the baby, using the clean cloth he had taken from the inn. Lorenzo watched on in horror. Afterwards, Marie sat contentedly on her blanket, being fed pieces of plum by d’Artagnan and pulling up grass.

 

**~~~**

 

They arrived back at the garrison in the late afternoon, Marie had fallen asleep. Elodie wasn’t there to see them arrive, she hadn’t moved since they had left that morning. She hadn’t eaten or had a drop to drink, but Constance was by her side the entire time. When there was a knock at the door, Constance got up to answer it. It was d’Artagnan, a sleeping Marie cradled in his arms. Constance gasped when she saw them both, and she kissed them both.

“Elodie!” she called to her friend, and Elodie finally looked up. Immediately she stood up, the blanket falling from her shoulders, and she ran over to them. D’Artagnan passed the baby over to her, and Elodie hugged her close. For the first time in a long time, the tears she cried were ones of joy. Marie slowly awoke and smiled a mostly gummy smile when she realised who was holding her. Mother and daughter looked each other in the eye, and Elodie melted.

“What happened out there?” Elodie asked after a few moments. With his arm around his wife, d’Artagnan sighed before saying,

“Asher must’ve known we were after him. He left her at an inn in the care of an old woman. He also left this,” and he pulled the remaining 10 livre from his purse and held it out to Elodie. Elodie stared at the money. It was in that moment that she realised that Asher didn’t care about her anymore. He only cared about Marie, and not for the right reasons. He wouldn’t have stayed as long as he did if Marie wasn’t his child. But Porthos. Porthos was with her in spite of Marie not being his child. He cared about both of them, and for the right reasons. She could only thank God that Asher hadn’t gone through with it. It pained her deeply to imagine him raising Marie without her, raising her to believe that her mother was dead, or worse.

“Thank you, d’Artagnan. Thank you so much,” Elodie said sincerely, not touching the coin in his hand. She knew now that when he had been angry at her, it was only because he cared about her and Marie. He had been right to dislike Asher.

“It’s over now,” he said, a hand on Elodie’s arm. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was over, she hoped it was over. But she was grateful to Asher. In the end, he had made her dreaded choice for her. Though, Elodie was coming to realise, Porthos was always going to be her choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading and all your comments! It's so cool to see people reacting to the story after working on it by myself for so long. The whole time I couldn't wait to share it with you, and now I have! It's exciting!   
> Up next is a little bit of an epilogue for ya.


	6. Epilogue

The day Marie took her first steps, a letter arrived for Elodie. Aramis came to the garrison to deliver it himself. It was from Porthos, her name on the outside written in his big loopy hand. She sat down at the table outside with Marie in her lap, who gnawed on the handle of her rattle to soothe her budding gums. As Elodie cracked the stamped wax seal, her heart was thumping in her chest. This was to be the final verdict.

 

 

_Dearest Elodie,_

_Trust me when I say that I truly had no idea there were any survivors from your husband’s regiment. I am so unimaginably sorry that I got it wrong._

_If you wish to return to him, I will understand. You have my blessing no matter what you decide. because I love you. And I love our daughter._

_With that love, always,_

_Porthos_

 

 

By the time she finished reading, her tears of joy were back. He called Marie our daughter, Elodie’s and his. Elodie suddenly realised that Asher always called Marie his child. She felt guilty for thinking him Marie's ‘real father’. Asher was as much a father as Porthos was a sparrow.

They may not be bound by blood, but Elodie and Porthos were bound by love and commitment. The only thing Asher was committed to was being a coward. He ran from war, he ran from his wife... Porthos was always meant to be Marie’s father. He was there for her in her very first moments, she was named after his mother, she was his daughter. Elodie had no regrets whatsoever about not fighting for Asher.

 

That evening, with Marie asleep, Elodie took the sunflower from its hiding place in her chest. She had no hesitations, no misgivings when she tossed it into the fire. As she watched it burn, she placed a gentle kiss on her wedding ring. She couldn't wait for her husband to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody in the story thanked Lorenzo so I'm doing it here. Thanks, Lorenzo. I’m proud of you.
> 
> **Edit:** _One Dead Sunflower is now part of a series! The second story can be found via the Sunflower Series link and it is called One Year On. If you liked this and decide to read further, you have my deepest thanks <3_


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